


Asphodel

by Minubell



Series: Forget-Me-Not AU [2]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: A lot of Hurt, Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Poisoning, Torture, less comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 01:13:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9150265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minubell/pseuds/Minubell
Summary: Takes place in between chapters 21-26 of Forget-Me-Not. Please read up to at least chapter 23 of Forget-Me-Not before reading this.A Oneshot featuring what happens to Tom during the Red Army Arc.He’s Tom. He’s the one who shot Red Leader down. The reason he was bed ridden, the reason he went missing, the reason he’s locked up in the infirmary. Paul and Patryk won’t answer any questions and the Army’s agitation grows every day. There’s whispers in the hallway, gossip about just who is sitting in the dark in the prison. It doesn’t take any bribery to have the guards look away either, they’re just as furious as everyone else. They just have to keep him alive, right? Nobody cares if you disappear for a half an hour to let off some steam. Just make sure you don’t hit him too hard.Then again, a couple of bruised ribs never really hurt anyone, did it?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Tumblr users technicolormanzaneh and consumerofleaves for allowing me to use their Red Army Sonas (Chell and Harris respectively). 
> 
> Special thanks to Tumblr users weabootord, guiltyconscince, and sheepabomination for their fantastic fanart, inspiring me to actually finish this thing.

There were some mornings where he woke up sharply. Nightmares of fire and metal scattered with thrashing limbs and tangled sheets, if he had even choose to sleep under the covers. Even the heaviness of a blanket, at times, was too much to bear. 

There were some mornings where he woke up gasping for air he couldn’t seem to find, his heart beating loudly in his chest as he coughed over and over again, never able to rid his throat of the smoke and heat that had overwhelmed him. 

There were some mornings where he woke up quietly, staring at the ceiling for minutes or hours, never able to shake the silence in the apartment. It wasn’t his home. It had never been his home. But there was no going back. 

This was different. His eyes cracked open to reveal nothing, nothing at all. There was no light leaking into the room from behind cracked curtains, there was no flickering light from the hallway light he always kept on _just in case_ , there was nothing.

Just.

Pure.

Darkness.

It took him a moment to even realize he was awake. His hands moved first, slowly dragging across the smooth floor until they were close enough for him to ease himself up onto his knees. Even that simple action, as achingly slow as he had tried to be, sent stabbing pain racing through the sides of his head. Groaning, he pressed his forehead onto the cold, smooth floor, trying to bring relief to the headache. Even though the pain remained, the cold brought some relief and he remained in that position for a few moments, on his hands and his elbows in the dark. And he remembered.

The trip.

The journal.

The car.

The men.

Tord.

_**Tord.** _

His teeth clenched together, driving the pain in the sides of his head back up, but it was ignored. Tord, Tord, Tord, TORD. It was his fault. THIS was his fault. It was ALWAYS his fault. His left hand curled into a tight fist, the nails of his fingers digging into his palm. It was quiet there, in the dark. But in the quiet, he could feel his rage building. It burned in the pit of his stomach, his fists, his face. He could feel it creeping into his cheeks, at the edges of his eyes like at any moment it could spill out and overwhelm him completely. A small voice in the back of his mind tried to soothe him, whispering gently that this wasn’t helping him. But it was quickly forced down and overwhelmed by his rage as it bubbled inside him, until he couldn’t even take it any longer and slammed his fist into the floor.

“FUCK!” 

Pain raced through his hand and he groaned, pressing his forehead back into the cold floor underneath him. No, no, no. Calm down, this wasn’t helping. He had to think, not just blindly lash out at the floor. He was just going to hurt himself, not actually make any progress. He had to think logically about this and that required calming down. It took him a while, admittedly, but after a few minutes of laying there in silence, surrounded by darkness, he managed to shelve his anger. Save it for later. Save it for Tord.

Lifting his head up gradually, he pushed himself back up onto his knees, just in time for bright light to suddenly flood the room. His eyes snapped shut and he pulled away instinctively, covering his face with a hand. His head pounded loudly in sync with his heart, but it was barely a whisper compared to the sharp stomp of boots on stone nearby. Lifting his head just barely and managing to squint through the hellishly bright, white light, he focused on the blurry shapes standing several feet before him. 

“Rise and shine, beautiful!” 

One of the two-dressed almost exactly like the one the two men who had helped Tord make a speedy getaway-stepped forward, his brown boots ominously loud compared to how quiet the room had been before. He stopped a few feet away, giving Tom an opportunity to stumble to his feet and give the man the nastiest look he could muster up. It was admittedly difficult, thanks to the fact the light now flooding the room was giving him the nastiest headache pounding into the sides of his head. Same jacket clearly meant he was on Tord’s side. That was enough of a reason for Tom to quickly run forward, letting his fist to punch the man’s face. Punch first, questions later. It was a fairly decent mentality, all things given. But before he could reach the other man, his arms suddenly jerked backwards, forcing him to stop short just a few inches away from where the man was standing, lips curled into a grin.

“Easy there, tiger,” The man tutted as Tom glanced over his shoulder, now able to see the thick, metal shackles wrapped around his wrists. A taunt chain was connected to each of the metal shackles, leading back to the wall where it was looped around a metallic circle that had been driven into the wall. Handcuffs. They had put him in handcuffs. Turning back towards the man, he opened his mouth, his mind racing for any possible witty thing he could say when a fist suddenly connected with his jaw, catching him off guard and sending him crashing to the cold, hard ground. A metallic taste burned the inside of his mouth as he laid where he had fallen in stunned silence. A heavy boot kicked him sharply in the stomach, sending him rolling back towards the wall. The chains slacked enough to allow him prop himself up on his elbows, and he scowled up at the man standing in front of him, deliberately just far enough away that he couldn’t reach him to retaliate. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth and he could feel his temper rising faster and faster.

“Oh, now that’s a neat trick,” The man commented thoughtfully, crouching down in front of him. A gloved hand reached out and roughly grabbed ahold of his face, jerking it painfully up so the man could see him better. Now that they were face to face and the bright light from the doorway was not blinding him as much, he was able to make out the man’s dusty blond hair and gray eyes. “Although, I think the expression is smoking from the ears, not the eyes.” A second gloved hand reached up, playing with the faint trails of purple smoke slipping from the corners of his eyes. The smoke coiled around his fingers, brushing over the thick material of his gloves before dissipating into the air, only to be quickly replaced by more purple smoke. “How are you doing that?” 

Tom forced his teeth together in a tight grimace, offering up only an angry glare in response. The silence between them only lasted for a few seconds before the the smile fixed on the man’s face faded slightly. The hand released his chin, giving him a moment of relief before the back of the man’s hand connected sharply with the side of his head, sending flashes of light dancing across his vision. Managing to catch himself this time before he smashed into the ground, he landed hard on his elbows. Blood dripped to the floor, sliding down the his chin from a split lip he had earned earlier, and his vision swirled as he found himself looking at his hands, trying to sort out the blurred double images from where his hands actually were. Spitting blood onto the floor, he closed his eyes, not even attempting to look at the man. He was just too dizzy.

“W-what do you want?”

“Who, me?” The man asked, crouching down just outside where Tom could reach. Even if he wanted to try to retaliate, even if he could actually gather himself up enough to attempt to strike back, it wasn’t going to do him any good with these restrains. He’d have to wait for a chance, if he’d ever get one. “Nothing, really,” The man replied after a small pause, shrugging his shoulders like he had been asked what he wanted to eat instead of spending the past several moments assaulting Tom. A hand reached out, condescendingly, but gently all the same, patting Tom’s cheek. Unable to help himself, he flinched away from the contact, fully expecting another blow to accompany the movement. But it never came, and instead the man regarded him silently for a few moments. “You don’t even know where you are, do you?”

He considered shaking his head, but just remained silent instead. Still, it was enough to get the point across. 

“Well, I guess I can be the first one to welcome you to the Red Army base. You’re currently sitting in one of our high security prison cells. Usually we’d just put someone in one of our more standard cells, but you’re a very special guest. After all, it isn’t every day we get to entertain the man who shot our leader out of the sky with a harpoon.” 

_Tord_ was their leader? He had known Tord had gotten into something bad based on the wanted poster alone, but he hadn’t realized he was running this entire show. That was…that was bad. He didn’t have any idea what he was up to, except that when he was trying to run away in that giant robot of his and mentioned something about taking over the world. It had been hard to hear exactly what he had said from under that mountain of rubble. But an entire army? He had never expected this. Any semblance of victory he might have felt towards knowing that he had been right all along about Tord was quickly crushed by the weight of this new information. 

“So,” The man continued, gathering himself and standing up so he could properly look down at him. He _hated_ it. It didn’t matter if it was only a few feet above him or in a fifty foot robot, he had quickly grown to loathe that look. It was one of superiority, one that was just asking to be taken down a notch. “No windows. One door. One meal, once a day. Oh, and just for you, we’ve decided to keep the doors unlocked. I’m sure you’ll get a lot of visitors so don’t worry about getting lonely. But I think I’ll let you get settled in for now.” 

Leaving him with this information, the man walked back towards the door, patting his silent companion on the shoulder. The heavy door creaked closed, the light slowly draining from the room until it finally closed with a loud click, leaving him completely and utterly alone in the dark, which seemed, if possible, even bleaker than it had been when he had first woken up. He didn’t want to move at first, as if the visitor might return, but after a few seconds _or maybe it was minutes_ he decided he was actually alone. Gradually pulling himself together, he held a hand against his stomach, using the other one to drag himself across the floor, tracing the chains connected to his wrist back to the wall. Ghosting his fingers across the stone wall, he wrapped his fingers around the large, metal ring and pulled, straining every bruised and battered muscle against the cold metal. The ring didn’t so much as creak let alone budge, despite his best efforts. It was quickly clear that the action was pointless. He wasn’t going to get free of these chains unless he had a key. Or broke all of the bones in one of his hands.

He wasn’t that desperate.

Yet. 

Turning away, he let his back rest against the cold, stone wall, finding some small comfort in the soothing chill. His hand was still tightly pressed against his stomach, trying to ease the aching pain in his gut. He could feel his cheek starting to swell, but everything seemed numb compared to the ringing in his ears and the pounding in his head. Turning his head, he pressed the side of his face against the stone, hoping the cold would suffice in place of an ice pack. Even though the man had left, he could feel the slow burning rage building inside him. It wasn’t long at all before his fingers curled around the chains, gripping them tightly until his knuckles turned white and his fingers began to grow numb. 

He would get even.

—— 

He wasn’t sure how long it had been when the door opened again. The heavy door was flung open from the outside with such a force that it collided with the neighboring wall with a crack. If he had been sleeping the noise alone was enough to send him jumping to consciousness, not to mention the sudden blinding light that preceded it. His head pounded but he jumped to his feet regardless, stumbling only slightly despite the way his vision spun. _Oh that's new_. The chains rattled loudly behind him but, learning from last time, he remained close to the wall, giving him room to retaliate if need be. He had made a mistake before approaching that man. But if he kept his distance, _forced them closer to him_ , he could put up a fight. 

Keeping his back against the wall, his eyes narrowed when the same man from before entered, this time accompanied by both his silent partner from before and a new person. 

“See, Chell?” The man from before said to his new companion, a woman with long, brown hair tied up in a pony tail. “I told you they just left the door open.”

“So what?" The woman replied, brushing a single lock of white hair out of her eyes, revealing a long scar across one of her eyes."Elliot, if you’ve dragged me all the way out here just for one unlocked door in the jail block, I will punch you in the nose."

Oh, so his name was Elliot. And the woman was Chell. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with this information, but seemed important enough to hang onto.

“It’s not just one unlocked door!” Elliot replied, gesturing in his direction. “Don’t you listen to the gossip? This is _him_. The guy who shot Red Leader out of the sky.”

“No way, he looks like a total pushover. This can’t be the same guy.”

“Not only that,” Elliot replied, taking a step deeper into the cell. “You know how Red Leader was missing for a while? Rumors say this guy kidnapped him.”

“That’s not true,” Tom snapped, unable to keep himself out the conversation any longer. “You assholes kidnapped me, not the other way around.”

Suddenly, all three pairs of eyes were on him. Leading the way, Elliot stepped closer first, moving until he was just out of range before turning back to his companions and smiling. 

“Look, he’s got a mouth on him too. Tell me you don’t want to just kick him.”

“I want to punch you in the mouth more than anything,” Chell replied, following Elliot closer but keeping her focus on him more than anything. The third member of the party, just like before, remained near the door quietly. “So what’s the deal then? Why is he still alive?”

Tom’s mouth snapped shut before he even realized it. 

“No clue,” Elliot replied with a carefree shrug, as if he wasn’t discussing a matter of literal life and death. “Paul and Patryk just brought him in and told us to keep him alive. That was it. Far as Red Leader is concerned, anything short of that is fine. I wanted to tell you first since I figured you’d like a shot before word gets around to everyone else. Nobody wants the leftovers, after all.”

They were right there in front of him, only a few feet away, but were talking about him as if he wasn’t even there. Not even like that, but like he was just a punching bag. His hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms with a scowl. 

“Don’t you think he deserves some payback?” Elliot continued, nudging Chell’s arm with his elbow. “Come on, think of Red Leader. We need to set an example right?”

“Don’t touch me,” Chell replied, jerking her arm away from him but stepping forward anyway, breaching the space in which Tom could move around. He tensed, ready for a counterstrike as she drew closer, only to stiffen when she pulled out a knife.

Ah.

Well then.

Touché

He backpedaled quickly enough until his back connected with the wall, but she stepped forward anyway. Closing his eyes, he turned his face away hoping that she wouldn’t aim for one of his eyes. He didn’t need people poking around in there, especially not with sharp, pointy objects. 

But instead, she turned the knife around and slammed the hilt into his gut, just below his ribs. The air flew out of his lungs and he groaned, sliding down the wall until he was lying on the floor, gasping and wheezing. He couldn’t catch his breath. He couldn’t breathe at all. Not only that but it hurt. Fire built up in his chest as he lay on the floor, wheezing and gasping for air. Curling in on himself, he pulled his legs up to his chest, trying to defend himself from any further blows while also struggling to regain some, _any_ of the air he had lost. 

“Eh, that was pretty boring,” Chell commented, giving him a strong kick to the leg before turning around, putting the knife back into her uniform. She strode past Elliot with complete nonchalance, glancing once at the quiet man by the door before turning back towards Tom and Elliot. “Go tell the others, I guess. They’ll have more fun with him.” With that, she strode out into the hallway, disappearing into the harsh light beyond. Eliot sighed in disappointment, as if he had been expecting something more, but followed her out, leaving Tom for just a moment with the silent person. They took one last look before turning away as well, closing the door behind them and leaving Tom to struggle in the dark. It took a few moments before he was able to comfortably breathe again, but the strike had still left a dull, throbbing pain in his chest that he couldn’t quite shake. 

“Ah, shit,” He whispered, more for his own benefit than anything else as he slowly climbed into a sitting position, resting his back against the wall behind him. Taking a few pained breaths, he ran the palm of his left hand over his chest, trying to soothe the burning there. Dammit, that hurt. 

But, unfortunately, it wasn’t anywhere near over.

While Elliot didn’t return right away, he did apparently tell the others. Irregularly, people would suddenly enter the cell, all wearing the same red sweater and blue overcoat that both the people who had whisked Tord away, and now Elliot, Chell and the quiet person that accompanied them. 

Sometimes they would come by themselves, sometimes in a group. Either way, they tended to be very similar in the way that they behaved. They would slow up, taunt him for a bit and then kick him around. If they showed up in a group, one might hold him down while the other spent time punching his face or gut, allowing them to not worry about retaliation. 

It hurt. It always did.

But after a while they would get bored and leave him alone, returning him to the quiet darkness to nurse his wounds until a new person would arrive. 

And then, in the midst, the quiet person would return.

They weren't accompanied by Elliot this time, oh no. Instead, they carefully eased the door open and quietly entered the room, holding a tray of food in their hands. Tom glanced up from where he was laying on the floor quietly, watching as they approached with the tray before carefully setting it down on the floor, just inside the range in which he could move around. Stepping back at this point, they quickly left the room, muttering something about coming back for the tray later. But they left the door cracked open, allowing him to still see the tray and the food on it. 

Small blessings, he supposed

Slowly climbing to his knees, he crawled towards the tray, reaching out and pulling it closer to him. Glancing up towards the door, he frowned slightly before looking down again at the tray. There weren’t any silverware or utensils, just a few paper plates and a plastic cup filled with water. On one small plate, slightly off to the side, was a small round roll of bread. In the center of the tray was a paper bowl filled with some kind of soup, and off to one side was a few slices of apple and orange. His stomach grumbled softly and he reached for the apple first, shoving a few of the pieces into his mouth. Clearly, this scenario was going to continue for a while. 

Picking up the soup, he sipped at the cold liquid, shivering slightly at the taste but drank it regardless. He was only getting one of these a day, after all. He needed to make the most of it. 

He finished the meal off with the roll before drinking the water and setting all of the empty plates, bowls and cups back on the tray and pushing it away. Crawling back to the wall, he rolled onto his side, facing away from the door and closing his eyes. Hopefully they would leave him alone through the night. He needed to rest and if they kept assaulting him, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. It wasn’t his biggest concern at the moment, honestly, but holding onto concern for smaller issues felt strangely grounding. Like he was still able to deny the situation he was in. But he let his eyes close anyway and slowly fell asleep, barely noticing when the quiet person limped back into the room, picked up the tray and left.

—— 

Days passed by and, slowly, he fell into a pattern. 

Wake up. 

Pain. 

Darkness. 

Pain. 

Pain. 

Darkness. 

Eat. 

Sleep. 

Repeat.

Most of the people he saw rarely came back and the blur of faces and name tags was too much to keep track of. The only constants were Elliot, and his quiet partner who watched the door whenever he appeared, and then would return later each day with a tray of food. But it was the return of Elliot that Tom dreaded the most with each passing day. While most would simply show up and shove him around for a bit before growing tired and bored, Elliot seemed to have a special place in his heart for going above and beyond what the others could do. 

One day, he shot the wall next to him at point blank just to watch him flinch away from the loud sound, covering his ears as they rang. 

The next day, he came in with a knife and slowly made cuts across the tips of his fingers, making small and shallow marks that stung worse than any of the kicks the normal visitors inflicted upon him.

The day after that he had walked in with a crowbar and spent a good portion of the time trying to see how many bruises he could give him while avoiding his chest, presumably to avoid any internal damage that could send him off to an early grave. He always seemed interested in his eyes for some reason and had spent more than one session trying to shove random objects inside them, like dice or small, round bells.

Eventually, he lost track of the days. He had figured at first it would be easy, as he was given a meal on each day and all he had to do was count. But sometimes he just couldn’t help it. Sometimes he would wake up, aching and sore with new bruises and cuts but no recollection of where they had come from or how long ago they had occurred. Sometimes he would find himself pressed up against the wall, trying to use the cold stone to soothe a bad bruises on his face or arm. Once, he woke up to find his shoes and socks had been taken away, exposing his bare feet to the bitter cold while his sweatshirt was covered with mud and dirt, despite none being present within the cell. 

He never really knew how long he had been blacked out for, or if any food had been delivered during that time, or if he had even eaten it. Really, he should have expected something like this. It wasn’t like this was the first time a he couldn’t really remember a traumatizing situation. 

After all, he couldn’t really remember much after Tord shot a missile at him. 

Just fire and screaming.

Rubbing his face in some attempt to organize his thoughts, he frowned and looked up as the door creaked open. The person who usually delivered his food and often accompanied Elliot entered, holding yet another tray full of food in their hands. Approaching quietly, they set the tray down just in front of Tom, giving him enough time to quickly find the name tag attached to the person's coat. _Harris._ He wasn’t sure what to do with this information, but he filed it away for future reference. This time, however, instead of leaving him alone to eat, Harris remained somewhat awkwardly nearby, glancing towards the door occasionally. 

Weird.

Picking up the bread roll, he quietly took a few bites, frowning slightly. The bread tasted oddly sweeter than it had previously, but it didn’t taste bad but it certainly was unusual. Lifting up the bowl of soup, he quietly drank it, taking his time in eating so he didn’t accidentally upset his stomach. Finally, when he had finished everything else on his plate, he went to pick up the cup of water, only for the plastic to slip out of his grip and fall to the floor as his vision suddenly began to blur.

Lifting his hand up, he wiped at his eyes, trying to ignore the slow, loud beats of his heart that seemed to shake his entire body. Collapsing onto the floor, he wheezed, trying to move his rapidly numbing hands and legs. 

Quiet footsteps filled the room as Harris calmly walked towards him before crouching down next to him. He never really noticed the fact they had a limp before, but it seemed oddly apparent now.

“I didn’t want to hurt you but, in hindsight, the dose might have been too small,” Harris said, pulling out a clipboard from under their jacket and looking it over. 

“What did you do to me?” Tom rasped as the face looming over him twisted and spun, his vision blurring from whatever he had eaten and tears. 

“Deadly Nightshade. I picked some the last time I had to run an errand. It’s supposed to be very fast acting and lethal, but I guess what I picked wasn’t enough.” He ran his fingers through his curled, brown hair, before glancing back towards the door. “I’ve seen what they’ve done to you and while I think you deserve some payback for what you did to Red Leader, this is just too much. I figured being dead quickly would be better than continuing on like this.” Tom coughed in response, managing to move his left hand just enough to flip them off. “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon enough.”

“Fuck you,” Tom spat back, but couldn’t seem to move enough to push Harris off when they knelt down and carefully wrapped their fingers around his throat. Wheezing, he lifted up his arms and tried to shove Harris away from him, but the fingers around his throat only tightened in response. 

“I don’t want you to suffer,” Harris replied, their fingers digging into the skin of Tom’s neck. "If you just give up, it will all be over faster.” Sure enough, his vision began to go dark, and his lungs burned as they ached for air. His hands gradually fell away as he lost strength, falling to the floor. 

He was going to die here.

Suddenly, the hands on his throat vanished and he gasped for air, wheezing and coughing. His vision gradually cleared, revealing a scene he clearly hadn’t expected to see. Elliot had appeared and wrestled Harris off of him, and was now pushing them towards the open door. 

“We’re supposed to keep him _alive_ ,” Elliot snarled. “Try a stunt like that again and Red Leader will have both of our heads.” He paused, glancing back in Tom’s direction only briefly before continuing. "You’re off food duty. I better not catch you anywhere near here again, got it?” Pushing Harris through the door, he paused for a moment before turning around and stomping quickly back towards Tom. Digging through his pockets, he pulled out a small container filled with strange, black tablets. Pulling a few out, he crouched down and pried Tom’s mouth open, forcing the tablets into his mouth, following it up with water from a water bottle. Coughing loudly, Tom tried to spit out the strange pills only for Elliot to clap a gloved hand over his mouth. “It’s activated charcoal, you idiot. I’m trying to get the toxins out of your system so just shut up and swallow.” Tom stared at him for a few seconds before complying, swallowing down the water and the black tablets. After all, whatever the tablets were couldn’t be as bad as deadly nightshade, right? And what was the point of trying to kill him if he had just saved his life?

As soon as he swallowed, Elliot removed his hand and wiped it off on his coat before standing up. “We shouldn’t have to wash out your stomach but I’ll have to check how much he gave you,” He turned around and strode quickly towards the door, slamming it shut behind him, leaving him alone in the dark. Blinking a few times, Tom slowly picked himself up off the ground, taking quick, pained breaths. His hands reached up towards his throat, running his fingers over the sore skin. His head hurt. His body still felt strangely numb, even if he could still move his arms around. Like he was disconnected. At the same time, however, he could feel something crawling across his skin, like spiders climbing up his arms and legs. But no matter how many times he tried to brush them off, the sensations remained behind. 

Curling in on himself, he pulled his legs in close and wrapped his arms around them, burying his face in his knees and trying to block out the strange patterns starting to form in the darkness. 

—— 

There wasn’t enough time.

When the door opened next he was huddled against the wall, fingers brushing over dark, painful bruises wrapped around his neck. Even the faintest touch was enough to spark pain. His voice rasped and as he tried to breathe he could barely manage more than a pained wheeze. It was a miracle he was alive.

But there wasn’t enough time.

Light flooded the room and he flinched away, drawing his hands up around his own neck defensively. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours and he was still feeling the effects of the toxin that had been introduced into his system. He needed more time.

Elliot stalked into the room, his boots clicking loudly against the stone floor until he reached the edge of the area in which Tom could move. There, he paused, looking down at him with a clear and obvious frown. He looked upset. Angry. Furious, even.

That wasn’t good.

“Are you right handed, or left handed?” Elliot finally asked after a long silence passed in between them. Blinking a few times, Tom huddled against the wall, only managing to offer up a confused look.

“What?” He rasped and, in that split second, Elliot stepped forward, breaching _his_ space and backhanding him across the cheek. Falling to the ground, Tom coughed loudly, spitting blood out of his mouth. 

“Are you right handed, or left handed?” Elliot repeated firmly, staring down at him coldly.

“L-left,” Tom rasped, his vision swimming from the blow. 

“Good,” Elliot replied, leaning down and grabbing him by the ankle, forcing him away from the wall and into the open. Tom flinched at the contact but avoided the impulse to kick out, knowing it would only result in more pain. Walking calmly around him, Elliot pulled his coat to one side. Slowly, he pulled out a long hunting knife from a holster attached to his waist, looking over the black blade with slight hum. “You know, Red Leader was right handed. I say was, because the state of his arm after you shot him out of the sky has been…questionable. So, I figured we should return the favor. Now, just remember, the louder you scream, the deeper I cut.”

Tom went rigid, trying to digest the words as Elliot’s boot pressed into his left shoulder, forcing it to the ground. His gloved hands pried his left arm away from his neck and carefully rolled up his sleeve, exposing his bare arm. Crouching over his exposed arm, Elliot slowly lowered his knife, pausing just before cutting into the skin to give Tom one last regard. 

“Oh, and try not to move either. I would hate to accidentally cut an artery.”

Then, the knife was biting into his arm and screams filled the room, carrying out into the hallway and past the guards. He blacked out more than once, only to awake to find Elliot still crouched next to him, refusing to continue until he was alert and aware. 

He didn’t know how long it was until he had screamed himself hoarse, his breath caught in his throat and the fingers of his right hand clawing at his own chest, but Elliot continued.

He didn’t know how long it was until his tears finally stopped, forming wet trails down his cheeks that eventually dried, but Elliot continued.

He didn’t know how long it was before he finally lost sensation in his left arm altogether, leaving only numbness, but Elliot continued.

He didn’t know how long it was before Elliot finally stood, regarding his work with a tilted head before nodding and wiping his knife clean with a rag before returning it to it’s sheath.

He didn’t know how long it was before Elliot pulled out a long roll of bandages and began to slowly, meticulously wrap it around his arm, whispering in his ear about how it would be a shame if he were to die now. 

Too easy, he said.

He didn’t know how long it was before Elliot finally left, closing the door behind him and leaving Tom laying in the dark, his left arm laying limply outstretched where he had left it, blood slowly soaking through his bandages. 

He would be back to change them, he said.

He would be back.

And he came back, time and time again, cutting open the same wounds over and over and over again.

—— 

He flinched when the door opened. He couldn’t help it any more. The creak of the metal hinges and the light flooding into the room had just become associated with pain to him now. Still, he remained quiet. Obedient. His head remained buried between his knees. 

If he kept quiet, they wouldn’t hurt him as much.

If he kept still, they wouldn’t hurt him as much.

If he was boring, they wouldn’t hurt him as much.

He had learned these three lessons over time, but they had been literally beaten into him. He didn’t care much at this point. He wasn’t getting out. At best, he could just hope for a quick death. 

“Tom?”

 _Tord_.

His fingers curled into his pants, unable to help himself. 

“Are you okay?”

Still playing that game, was he? Was he trying to gloat? To taunt?

“What’s wrong?” 

He could hear footsteps moving towards him. But a quick, small glance upwards told him Tord was alone. Alone and moving closer to him. 

The moment he stepped in range, Tom sprang, grabbing ahold of one of his ankles with his right hand and yanking hard. The action hurt like hell, and he was pretty sure he opened up more than a few cuts, but Tord toppled to the floor, his head smacking against the stone with a rather satisfying thud. Relying solely on instincts to guide him, he pulled Tord across the floor, dragging him deeper into range. 

“Tom?” Tord asked, looking more than a bit disoriented. Another act, of course. He was dangerous, after all.

“I’m not falling for this again,” He snapped in response, glancing towards the open door. Nobody was coming, right? But he couldn’t hear anything. It looked like he was safe for now. He grabbed ahold of Tord’s blue coat-matching the ones the guards wore-and pulled him closer so he was looming over him. “It’s not going to work this time.” Never again.

“I…What?” Tord replied, feigning innocence. Scowling, Tord shifted so he could press his knee against Tord’s chest, trying to pin him down. He was exhausted, beaten and hungry. But he had to make sure Tord couldn’t weasel away. “Tom I can’t breathe,” Tord wheezed, only prompting him to dig his knee in a bit deeper. _Liar._

“You can’t lie to me again,” He rasped, his throat still aching from where he had been strangled. He always lied. He always had lied. And he would continue to lie. It was the only thing he was good at, the only thing he was good for. And he had fallen for it like a dumbass. Not again. Never again. “I can’t believe I thought for even a second you were telling the truth,” He snarled. “I mean, really? Amnesia? I don’t know what was more stupid, your story or the fact I actually believed you.” Not just him either. Edd and Matt too. Well, he wasn’t going to make it. He had accepted that. But he could at least make sure he never had the chance to hurt his friends again. He grabbed ahold of Tord’s right arm, ignoring the pain it caused his own arm. He didn’t care. He just wanted to hurt him. He wanted to get even. After a moment of consideration, his other hand moved, his fingers carefully wrapping around Tord’s throat. “I’m not going to give you the opportunity to fool us again."

“I hate you.” He didn’t have a plan. He just wanted to make him hurt. He wanted to make him hurt like he had been hurt. “You should just die.”

In a split second, Tord suddenly jerked his arm up, slamming his fist into his nose. Swearing loudly, Tom clapped his hands over his nose as Tord scrambled away across the floor, trying to get away. No. Not that easily. He wasn’t going to get away from him now.

“I’m trying to help you,” Tord wheezed. Something inside him snapped and he quickly grabbed Tord’s ankle again, dragging him closer. Tord’s hand lifted to attack him again but he caught the action easily enough with his right hand and slammed his left hand into Tord’s face, returning the favor and sending Tord’s head connecting with the ground with another satisfying crack that completely made up for the pain that shot through his left arm. He could still move it.

That was for Matt. 

“YOU DESERVE THIS!” He yelled and his fist came down, ready to punch him in the nose. Instead of hitting him, his wrist was suddenly grabbed and twisted away. Looking up with a start, Tom started at the familiar face of the man who helped Tord escape from him in the first place. A quick glance at the upside-down name tag on his chest told him the man’s name was Paul. Grinding his teeth, he pushed against the arm, trying to throw him off as Tord was dragged away by the other familiar man, but Paul was clearly stronger than he was. The second man quickly escorted Tord out of the room and, no sooner than he had, Paul’s elbow suddenly connected with his sternum, knocking him to the floor and driving the air from his lungs.

“We just got him back, you fucker,” Paul swore as he let Tom’s limp wrist drop to the ground. His fingers curled into shaking fists before he managed to apparently pull himself together, taking a sharp breath. “I’m not going to let you take him away.” His right fist pulled back and slammed into his nose. Blood- _where the hell did that come from_ -poured down his face, covering Paul’s fist before he slowly pulled his fist back again, ready for another strike. 

That was the last thing he saw before he passed out. 

When he woke up, the door was closed again. Tord was gone. They were all gone. 

Shit.

He tried to move, tried to get up, only to realize he couldn’t. Blinking in confusion, he tried to move his hands, only to find they didn’t budge. The manacles had been attached to the wall somehow, preventing him from moving them even an inch. Not only that, but a new manacle had been added around his neck, biting into his skin and keeping him from moving his head. The only thing that he could actually move was his ankles, but he could feel manacles wrapped around those as well. A bit of shifting revealed they were not connected to a chain that looped through a spot in the floor, giving him some limited mobility. 

He couldn’t move. Even the limited range of motion he had been given before had been robbed from him.

Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain building in his left arm. 

—— 

The door opened.

_Whatever._

Calm footsteps filled the otherwise quiet room.

_…_

The footsteps stopped.

_I’m tired._

A soft clang was the only indication of something metal being set down near him.

_I’m so tired._

His eyes remained fixed at a corner of the room, ignoring the person who had taken a seat in front of him. He hadn’t moved in a long time. He couldn’t. He was too hungry. Too exhausted. Too tired to fight back. He was finally done.

“You need to drink something.”

Hmm, that was a new voice. Not that it mattered all that much. Nobody had shown up after Tord left. Even with a dulled sense of time in the dark room, it was clear that too much time had passed. After a day, he had been confused. Maybe his sense of time was wrong. Maybe they forgot. After two days, he had realized they were deliberately ignoring him. Maybe they were trying to teach him a lesson. It wouldn’t be the first time. After three days, he had let his head hang down, letting sleep occupy most of his time. Maybe they just wanted to get rid of him.

After four days, he stopped struggling.

He was thirsty.

He was hungry.

He was tired.

The darkness provided little comfort. Some part of him had ached for the door to open again, despite the pain it would inevitable lead to, just for a few moments of light and human contact. But those thoughts faded over time, leaving him to dream. He just didn’t care anymore. 

“You need to eat something.”

Oh, he was still there. 

Blinking a few times, he ran his tongue over his dry lips, shifting his head slightly so he could look up. The heavy loop of metal weighed down on his neck, uncomfortably biting into his skin as he shifted. Crouched in front of him was yet another member of Tord’s army, though despite the fact the voice had been unfamiliar, the face stirred only a few memories. The first time he had seen him, he had assisted with Tord’s getaway just before he had been knocked unconscious and dragged into this hellish place. The second time, he he rescued Tord from his well deserved fate, dragging him away before he had been subjected to yet another punishment. And now he was here. Why? Did he want a turn to torment him? 

His gaze dipped down briefly to the metal tray resting between them, ignoring the man for a moment. There were a few other food items resting on the tray but he paid them little mind, instead turning his head away to resume staring at the far wall. 

He wouldn’t fall for that again so easily. 

_“Please.”_

“Why?”

His cracked lips and dry throat could barely whisper the word, but he managed to summon up enough strength to pose the question. Shifting slightly, he closed his eyes, drawing his knees in close to his chest. The room seemed so much colder now than it had, and it seemed to pierce right through him. It didn’t feel soothing anymore. It just hurt. 

“You’ll die if you don’t,” Patryk replied softly. “It’s been five days since you’ve had something to eat or drink. You won’t last like this. Most people wouldn’t make it past three.”

Five days. It was hard to keep track in the absolute darkness as to how much time had passed, but he wasn’t sure if he was surprised or not. He had known a while had passed but hearing the exact time was strange. Like, he wasn’t sure if that time was longer or shorter than what he had expected. 

“Why do you care?” Tom rasped back, his eyes remaining closed. Nobody else seemed to. They had left him be for the past five days. Left him to starve and die in the darkness. So then why was he here now?

“Because I care about Tord and he cares about you, even if you did strangle him. Now shut up and drink some water.” Picking the glass up, he held it out towards Tom, twisting it around so the straw was only millimeters away from his lips. The bright pink bendy straw wasn’t exactly something he would have expected to see while imprisoned, but at least it would prevent him from choking. Besides, he was too thirsty at this point to deny the offered water when it was so close. Leaning forward as far as the new restraints allowed him to, he wrapped his lips around the straw. The water was lukewarm at best, but after being thirsty for so long it felt amazing. In only a few short seconds he had drained the entire glass and reluctantly let the straw slip away from his mouth. Patryk took the glass away and reached down towards the tray, picking up the bread roll and ripping off a piece before offering it to him as well. But unlike with the water, Tom turned his head away, refusing the piece of bread. He had learned his lesson with that.

“You need to eat food too,” Patryk chided, frowning at him. “If you don’t eat, I’ll have to resort to an IV.” He fell silent when Tom didn’t reply, his gaze drifting down from Tom’s face to his neck, prompting Tom to frown. What was he looking at? The metal band? Noticing movement out of the corner of his eye, he flinched back as much as he could, bringing his knees up in between the two of them so he couldn’t hit any of his more vital organs. That, of course, left his face exposed, but kicking Patryk was out of the question. That would just result in more pain.

But the hand that had been moving towards him paused, retreating back again to a safer distance. “I’m sorry,” Patryk whispered softly. “Can I come closer? I won’t hurt you, I promise. I just want to help you.”

Tom frowned slightly, keeping his gaze down and to the left. The others hadn’t bothered with pretenses about being nice. Or at least, not for this long. It was weird. Unsettling, even. Why ask for permission? Was it some kind of attempt to hurt him more? At this point, he wasn’t sure there was anything left to break. He let his eyes close, leaning back into the manacles holding him against the wall.

“Okay,” he rasped. Fabric shifted as Patryk moved closer to him, reaching out and lifting the band of metal around his neck, revealing a few of the dark purple splotches around his neck. Tom flinched at the contact, but no blow came and the band settled back down as Patryk moved his hand away from his neck, drifting instead to his right hand, inspecting the small scars that covered the tips of his fingers, the back of his hand, and his palm. His hands moved away again, until suddenly, the manacle attached to the wall snapped open and his wrist slipped free. His eyes snapped open and he stared at his freed hand in surprise before looking at Patryk, watching him trying to fit a key into the lock on the other manacle wrapped around his left wrist. Then, that one was free as well and his hand fell limp to his side. Before he could really even register what was happening, the band around his neck had snapped open as well. 

“What are you doing?”

“I have decided,” Patryk replied as he hunched over, trying to find the lock on the manacle for his right leg. “That you need an IV after all. I’m taking you to the medical ward.” Just like that, his right foot was free, and his left followed soon after. “Can you stand?”

Tom’s eyebrows knitted together at the question, but he pulled himself up the wall with his right hand, grasping onto the metal chains that had previously kept him captive for support. Muscles that hadn’t been used in what felt like forever ached and groaned under the effort, but he managed to shakily climb to his feet on his own. Inching his left foot away from the wall, he tried to hold his balance without leaning against the wall but nausea quickly took hold and his knees buckled beneath him. He would have crashed back down to the floor if Patryk hadn’t been there, grasping him by his hoodie and hooking his arm underneath him. 

“Easy,” Patryk muttered as Tom grabbed ahold of his blue outer jacket. He slowly starts to shuffle forward, leading Tom towards the large, metal door that marked the exit to the cell. “Stay close and keep your head down,” He whispered as they walked into the hallway. It wasn’t hard to heed his advice and if he had been nauseous before, the lights shining above them made it so much worse. His head spun and his vision blurred, and he eventually resorted to closing his eyes to block out the harsh lights. Maybe it was because he spent so much time in that dark room but it actually so bright that they _hurt_. So he hobbled along after Patryk as they moved out of the prison block.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long until they met a guard.

“What are you doing, sir?” The guard asked, cutting in front of them quickly. “That is a dangerous inmate, sir. Please, return him to his cell before he hurts someone.”

“I’m here on official business from Red Leader,” Patryk snapped back. “So I suggest you remove yourself from my path before I am forced to contact him.” This was apparently enough of a threat for the guard to quickly step out of the way, awkwardly saluting as they shuffled past him and down a hallway. 

“Did Tord really ask you to do this?” Tom finally asked as they paused in front of a door. Patryk fished a keycard out of his pocket and tapped a panel next to the door with it. The panel beeped softly before the door slid open, revealing a small bedroom. It was unusually plain, with a simple bed covered in beige sheets pushed up against the wall. There were no windows, but there were quite a few little pictures around the room of different landscapes. Some kind of attempt to make the bare, white room look a bit more comfortable. 

But anything after the cell seemed more than cozy.

“He wouldn’t stop asking about you when he first woke,” Patryk replied, guiding Tom over to the bed. “But we were so focused on making sure he didn’t die that we didn’t realize what was going on. I just passed on the information to the guards that Red Leader wanted you alive. I guess… word got out about who you were. We never realized.” Patryk sighed as Tom sat down on the edge of the bed and awkwardly shoved his hands into the pockets of his blue coat. “He only stopped asking after he went looking for you. I think you scared him.”

It didn’t make any sense. Tord had lied. These were the people he was teamed up with. Had he made a mistake? It just didn’t make any sense. None of it made any sense. Had he been telling the truth all along? He had never liked Tord, that was a fact. But if he had actually lost all of his memories…if he had truly wanted his friendship….

 _Fuck_.

“I’m sorry I can’t do very much for you,” Patryk continued with a sigh. "I would have taken you to the actual medical ward, but Tord is in there right now and I don’t think he wants to see you. Plus, Paul would throw a fit about having you in there with him. But, these are my quarters. I don’t use them at the moment and I’m the only one with a key card to get in, so you don’t have to worry about any more…visitors. Just don’t run off, okay? I can’t guarantee your safety if you do.” 

A part of him insisted this was just another cell, but it was masked by an overwhelming feeling of relief. 

“I’ll go get an IV and a first aid kit. And some food, in case you feel better and want to eat something.” With that, Patryk turned and walked back towards the door. His hand only just settled on the door knob when Tom spoke up, causing him to pause.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Patryk replied, a frown forming on his face that Tom couldn’t see before he opened the door and left the room. The door slid shut behind him, leaving Tom alone in the room. Not moving from his spot on the bed, he continued to stare at the door for a few minutes before looking down at his hands. 

“Thank you,” He repeated in a soft whisper, despite the fact Patryk had long-since left the room. 

_“Thank you.”_


End file.
